


A Matter of Time

by holographic_meatloaf



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Episode: s03e21 Same As It Never Was, Gen, If you've seen the episode it ain't your first rodeo, Post-Same As It Never Was, Violence but not super detailed/graphic, Wanna see me do it again, Wanna watch me suck the life out of literally everything, everyone is trying their best, sorry don
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holographic_meatloaf/pseuds/holographic_meatloaf
Summary: Everyone falls sooner or later. He just hoped he wouldn't take everyone else down with him.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fond of '03 Don, and felt quite bad for him when I saw this episode, but I guess not bad enough to not write this.

Days passed by, and everything seemed fine. Though, it was only fair to assume the lives they led didn’t leave much room for such idealism. Still, upon Donatello’s arrival, he felt at ease for perhaps the first time in a while, remnants of a smile still worn on his face as he heard the familiar echo of hushed bickering on the opposite side of the door to the entrance of their home. As it slid open, his grin widened as the two discordant tones reflexively silenced, no doubt aware of the hour, though they had forgotten that the recipient of their courtesy was not even present.

“You don’t have to lower your voices, you know,” he called out over his shoulder as his two rowdier brothers lazily plodded into the room, their energies all but spent heckling one another across the rooftops the entire way home. Before either could reply, a groan of exasperation resounded from the back of the congregation, slipping in among the rest, in a way that was so utterly typical of him; the others parted to hear his words of wisdom.

“Did you have to remind them, Don? My headache was almost gone.” And just as soon as the waves parted they clashed again, and a rejuvenated chaos erupted freely. Raphael, challenged by the insult, growled and sought to knock Leonardo down a peg the only way he knew how, blindly hurling obscenities like lightning bolts in the hopes that a stray lucky hit would knock him off of his damn perch, though by now, he really ought to have known better. Michelangelo, insulted by the challenge and encouraged by his newfound liberty raised his own voice, determined to easily prove himself worthy of the havoc Leo associated with his name, and his laughter boomed, reverberating off of the walls with such an intensity Don swore he felt them vibrate, for surely Leo ought to have known better than to provide him with ammunition like that.

Such was the storm that Leonardo endured daily, and on normal days he took it in stride with the rest of his responsibilities with the same monotony, but tonight, he seemed to find it more amusing than anything else to swat away his younger brothers as they incessantly badgered him, that wry smirk held at the corner of his mouth that he had justly earned from his years of self-sacrifice. Leo almost never played that big brother card, powerful card though it was, and it seemed just as well on most days he would hold his hand tightly against his chest, as though letting one of them take a peek would defile the nonsensical rules he held in such ridiculously high regard. It was nice to see him let go of whatever tethered him to the soil and coalesce into the entropy every once in a while, because Leo was nothing if not true to his word, and he always boasted proudly with his trump card in hand that though he may often take the lead, he would follow his brothers anywhere.

Then why did he feel so alone? Absently staring at his brothers, his tired grin faded. He was watching the beautiful vibrancy of life unfold before his own eyes with the same trepidation he was sure April felt watching them handle some of her more delicate pieces the night before.

Such things, she had attempted to explain time and time again, held value in the history they revealed, the memories and experiences they contained and not in the ornateness of the object, shooting a glare at Casey to silence an unasked question, to which he would just sigh and release his hold on the attached price tag, choosing instead to hold his tongue. Despite her well-intentioned admonishment, Mikey was never able to restrain himself for very long, and so long as the item appeared structurally sound enough, it was in the air, on his back, anywhere but his hands. “Guys, _guys_ c’mon, check this out, I’ve _always_ wanted to try this-!” Eyes shining with a mischievous determination, the figurine was flung into the air again despite the multiple cries of protest. Mikey may have been an airhead, but admittedly, he wore it well, executing his ‘performance’ with a particular brand of fluid easiness that rolled off of him like everything else in his life did. He flipped and twirled, throwing a wink at Raph for good measure, but he never broke a sweat, and Don almost felt that small but needling pang of jealousy-that is, until predictably, he ran out of room and stumbled forward. To his credit, the figurine never hit the ground, however his relief was as short-lived as the silence, and it was snatched from his hands as quickly as he had ungracefully caught it.

“What? Oh come on, April, I totally had it!” Raph nudged him with an elbow and laughed, against his better judgement.

“Nice catch, moron.”

Mikey only puffed out his chest and smiled, “See? Raph agrees with me!” coughing sharply to himself after Raph took it upon himself to elbow him harder in objection. “You can trust me April, honest!”

“Yeah, sure. Just as far as we can throw you.” Raph snorted, and Mikey faltered a bit before throwing a lazy arm around his shoulder.

“Aww gee, Raph. From you, that’s a compliment.” Raphael scoffed, pushing him off roughly, and returned to his work as Michelangelo began to theatrically chronicle the story of how Raph had once hurled him all the way to the couch to an attentive Casey. Raph rummaged through a nearby box with perhaps more force than was necessary, and if Don hadn’t been within range, he might have commented on it-maybe. However, noticing the slight curl to his lips, he thought better of it. He often found himself thinking better of a lot of things lately, as he normally would not hesitate to waltz over the line and throw him a taste of his own cynical medicine every now and again no matter what the consequences, as was customary of their exchanges. Raphael was tough, he could take anything Don threw at him and amplify it tenfold with an intensity that was hard to extinguish…he froze. Suddenly he felt that familiar tug and he begged himself to focus on something else, but the damage had been done, and his brother as he knew him disappeared.

Suddenly he was too big, too rugged, tossing about bags of supplies like he had forgotten what it meant to handle anything gently, too drained to fire back at Donatello’s deliberate attempts to ignite something he sorely missed. The longer he strangled Don in his arms the more he wondered if this feeling had something to do with why he always curled his fists and gripped the handles of his sai tight enough to callous his hands, like everything would slip out of his fingers if he didn’t. Don couldn’t blame him for that; he came to know the feeling well, though by the time he was able to return the sentiment, no amount of strangling would have ever been enough to keep him from slipping away. To keep them from-

It was too much to bear. He had buried his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut until they watered, only to have them delicately pried away and encased by a familiar roughness. Startled at having been pulled from his thoughts so abruptly, he looked up blearily as the darkness receded to the corners of his vision to find two eyes staring right back into his soul. He withdrew just as quickly, embarrassed at having entrenched himself so deeply in memory that he hadn’t been able to pay attention to the reality around him, and now he must have accidentally worried Raph after he had been so content minutes earlier. And he had gone and ruined it, like he had ruined everything else.

“Donnie?” Raph kept his voice low as not to alert the others who were still too busy fretting over Mikey to notice, and he found himself equally appreciating and loathing Raph’s uncanny ability to pick up on the most minute discrepancies in his behavior that no one else could, making it next to impossible to lie to him. “You feeling okay?” It wasn’t going to stop him from trying anyways. He took it upon himself to scrub his eyes of what remained behind them and made a show of ‘yawning’ to settle himself into the comfortable folds of his favorite excuse, a strained grin in place all the while to tie the whole illusion of capitulation together.

“Oh, quit hovering Raph, I already told you I’m tired, that’s all. You know I was working last night-”

“Come on Don, who’re you kidding? I watched Leo kick you out of that lab of yours before the clock struck 12, easily. Now are you gonna tell me what’s eating you or-?”

“Leo isn’t the boss of me. I thought you would understand that better than anyone,” he snapped, then immediately cringed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” But Raphael only sighed and gave him a squeeze on the shoulders.

“So you kept working anyway, huh?” Don’s silence was as good as an answer. “Y’know I always got your back bro, but you’ve been acting real weird lately, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Leo’s worried about you, and frankly, so am I. So spit it out already, so you an’ me can go back to bein’ on the same side again, will ya? You kinda put me in a real awkward spot here.”

“Seriously? I don’t need you guys to babysit me every time I take up a new project, okay? And no, before you ask, it can’t wait. We can’t afford to be caught by surprise like that again, who knows who or what could find us then, or what would happen-”

“Hey.” Raph interrupted gently, expression softening with genuine concern, and Don allowed himself to breathe, and remember himself before he devolved into a raving mess. “You’re safe. _We_ are safe, okay? So things went a little off the wall, when don’t they?”

“A little off the-Raph. We were flung. _Through time_ _and space_. From inside our own home. So forgive me if the first check on my to-do list after making sure my brothers are alive is that they actually manage to _stay_ alive for more than 4 days by upgrading the security systems-”

“And here we are, Don! You’re a broken record, you know that? You’ve been fussing at us since the moment you popped out of that portal! Wanna tell me what _that_ was all about? How you’re the one who wants so badly for us to just leave it be for whatever reason and now you’re obsessing over it?”

“Raph, I-…I don’t want to fight with you, please? …I just wanted to get back to my work okay? It was important for me to get it done, to make sure it never happens again. And I’m okay with trading a few hours of sleep for that.”

“Few hours? Few days, more like. Look, Donnie. I know your work is important, and we’re all grateful that you’re just trying to look out for us, but I think we’ll handle ourselves just fine without all your fancy bells and whistles for as long as it takes you to rest, bro. You’re more important. Don’t kill yourself over us, okay? Stop being an idiot.”

Donatello involuntarily shrunk into himself in a half-hearted attempt to disappear. The guilt practically ground him into nothing, and he wanted so desperately to escape the wreckage of his own thoughts. He couldn’t tell him, not now. How this pedestal would easily collapse and pin him under the weight of another failure, another loss that could have been avoided if he had only been enough. And it hurt. He couldn’t fathom why his counterpart would abandon his brothers the way he did until he watched them bicker incessantly with one another, picking each other apart until it was too late to fix what they had undone. Michelangelo had said that he was always meant to be the glue, and it seemed to be just as well-he was always fixing things his brothers broke. But Don could see himself running ragged, attempting to hold everyone together, and it became glaringly obvious that the one thing he had never managed to fix was himself. That he was gradually worn away, bit by bit until he himself was broken, and then he had gone, not out of spite but out of a general, dejected hopelessness that came with knowing nothing would ever be the same.

And so it was, so very against his own creative nature to stand in the aftermath, amongst the ruins of everything he had destroyed. It was all his fault. He was sorry, so sorry-he didn’t want to fight, he never wanted anything like this to happen, he just wanted everything to stop so he could just- _be_ where he belonged, in _this_ moment with his _own_ brothers. To peacefully coexist alongside Mikey’s rehashed comic-book story adventure, and Raph’s ultimate speed racer psychedelic fever-dream, and Leo’s grand-tour samurai reunion special and just have a good laugh about the ridiculousness of it all because they managed to pull through with nothing more than a few scrapes and some good fireside stories out of the ordeal. So when it came time to regale his own absurd, death-defying saga, he would politely decline, and inquire about any random, non-specific story detail he knew Mikey or Raph wouldn’t be able to resist elaborating upon because he thought it best to just put it all behind him. But he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t the past that haunted him. It was the future.

He hadn’t really lied after all, he _was_ tired. Maybe that was why Raphael believed him, but Don could never let him know he was right, no matter how well it would serve to bolster his excuses. He refused to set up those dominoes-instead he chose to sway the slightest amount until he hit something steady, unwavering, resting his cheek on an arm that had never left his shoulder. He sighed in silent relief as it held him up, and everything was right again. “Shut up, Raph.” He mumbled, and Raph only snickered.

“There he is. Welcome back bro, you had me at a loss for a second there.”

“Only a second? That’s probably a new record.” A hand was then unceremoniously smushed into his face as Raph pushed him off, and he laughed as his gentle expression solidified into his favorite cement mold of sarcasm.

“Don’t push it, geek boy.”

Donatello was slow to retort. He would have, he wanted to. But he wanted more for that stupid little smirk to stay on his face, for him to carry himself as if he was the king of the universe like he did every time he thought himself the victor of an argument. Because though Don had his dignity to lose, he much preferred it to the alternative, and if Raph was here being his normal cocky self then that meant that the fight was over, there were no fractures to mend, and he wasn’t going anywhere except home, with the people that he loved more than anything. At least for now.

“Hey, hey _easy_! Never knew you could be so _clingy_ Leo, that’s kinda sad when you think about it-” Mikey easily overpowered the lull in the conversation as Leonardo unsuccessfully attempted to prevent him from picking up another plate.

“Put. It. _Down._ ” April looked to Leo in exasperation, no doubt having realized by now that Mikey had far more stamina than her, and it was useless to try and keep arguing with him when he still had the energy to burn.

“Or at least hand it to me, Mikey please? We’re almost done-”

Unexpectedly, Michelangelo’s expression soured, and it was almost as if the room itself darkened. “Geez, guys. I’m just trying to help, you know. I didn’t even _drop_ that stupid thing and I apologized like a _million_ times just so April wouldn’t kick me out and now you guys are gonna throw a fit every time I look at something? Really?”

As expected, Raph was the first one to throw himself into the fray. “Quit whining, Mikey. We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t flinging April’s things every which way like a reckless lunatic.” From the look on Mikey’s face, Don didn’t need to tell Raph how badly he’d miscalculated, and a twinge of panic overtook him as he realized that regardless neither were planning to relent.

“Oh? Not like the way you and Casey were tossing whole boxes across the room earlier? What a show of restraint, right? Where were you on that one, April? Leo? You guys were on my case all night, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were too busy yelling at me for disturbing the dust or something-”

“Mikey, stop.”

“No, Leo. You know I’m right. You _all_ know I’m right, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why no one is okay with that! I’m sorry but I can’t help but feel a bit frustrated that you guys are sentencing me to hang when I’m not the only one in the wrong here. I haven’t even broken anything but the minute I try to help out I get written off? Real just guys, real fair.”

“You juggle my inventory in the air and then ask why I’m upset? Am I following correctly?”

“This isn’t like you man, I don’t get it. You were okay a few minutes ago-” Casey interjected, attempting to dull the edge of the April’s irritated confusion.

“How would _you_ know? You guys are missing the _point_ …whatever, you know what? Forget it, okay? It’s stupid. Not like any of you would give me the time of day anyways…”

“Whoa, hold on. Wait. What _is_ the point, Mikey? Where is this all coming from?”

“I…it just never stops. Not for a second. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, it just…follows me there…you guys know I saved your asses, right?”

“You mean those guys from whatever crazy dimension you got thrown into? Yeah, only about 8 thousand times, they don’t count-”

“Who cares? They might as well have been, they weren’t all that supportive either. And I knew that whenever I got back, you guys wouldn’t be able to let it go, that I would probably get teased from now until the actual end of time about managing to land in a dimension of superheroes, of all places. But I wanted so bad to just pretend that I fit in. Like if I were one of them I would actually be given the chance to go out and just do what I was able to help, but I wasn’t, I was just…me. After everything I was still just…the guy they were _stuck_ with. And, I was willing to chalk it up to the fact that I wasn’t their real brother, I didn’t have powers, I was the odd one out by nature so of course they were going to be dismissive. But then…what was your excuse? When am I ever going to be good enough for you guys?”

The silence was deafening, and Donatello felt himself being pulled away again.

“I always pull more than my fair share of the weight around here, how am I supposed to do that if you don’t even trust me to _hold_ something?”

_“…You can’t exactly hold as much as you used to.” Raphael replied, with no hint of humor in his tone, relieving his brother of the weight of the engine block he was quietly struggling to carry underneath his arm. Don had returned with the blueprints he had been sent to retrieve but the tension in the room prevented him from interrupting his “brothers”, choosing to stand just outside the door and look over the plans once more while they finished their quarreling. He had already been thrown headfirst into one conflict, he was determined not to walk right into another if he could help it. Michelangelo growled, making note of Leonardo’s silence as the salt in the wound._

_“Thanks Raph. Where would I be without you?”_

_“Dead, probably. You’re welcome, by the way.”_

_“For what, asshole? You think I’m impressed with your whole macho routine? Like that’s gonna make up for-”_

_“Michelangelo, calm down. This is not the time-”_

_“Yeah, what the hell is your problem? If it were my arm, you’d be making all kinds of cracks, right? When did you get so sensitive?”_

_“Funny how you two never seem to agree on anything unless it’s gaslighting me, huh? I guess some things never change. And for the record, you’re damn right I’m sensitive-someone had to be after he left. I’m not going to apologize for that.”_

_“Really Mike? Because it kinda sounds like you want us to apologize for something.”_

_“Raphael, Michelangelo, no. That’s enough. We can’t afford to fall apart again, not now.”_

_“And whose fault is that, Leo? You wanna act like the leader again then go stand on your soapbox somewhere else, will ya? Clearly Mikey’s got something to say to us, and I’m not gonna run away like a **coward**.” Leo stood up sharply, lunging at Raph and only just stopping short. _

_“Say that again.” He hissed. “It isn’t my fault you can’t accept the fact that I did what I had to do.”_

_“There’s that sanctimonious prick I know and hate. Go wave your credentials in someone else’s face because to me, that crap’s about as useful as your eyes.”_

_“Will you two CUT IT OUT?” Michelangelo shouted in exasperation, wedging himself in between his two oldest brothers as well as he was able. “Honestly it doesn’t even matter if I tell you what I gotta say, it’s not like either of you are gonna listen to me anyways. You guys can’t go ten minutes without Donatello before you’re at each other’s throats.”_

_“Mike, you’re the one who wanted to argue!”_

_“Yeah, it was YOUR pissy mood that started this whole thing!”_

_“Because I’m not Don, okay? I tried to be, I really did, but nothing I ever did was enough for you guys. Do you know how frustrating that is? The first time we’re all together again, and the only thing you two can think about is killing each other? But then I remember that we’re not all together again, our Don is still gone, and I’m still the guy trying to clean up the broken glass he left on his way out. So I’m sorry if I get ‘pissy’ every now and again, but I think I’ve earned it after, unlike Don, actually trying to hold this family together with only one arm.”_

_Raphael suddenly smacked Michelangelo upside the head, but there was no affection in the gesture whatsoever, as though he would have done more if not for the consequences he would surely face. “ **You don’t get to talk about him that way.** ” He mumbled darkly, pure anger slurring his words, but if Mikey was remorseful, he gave no indication. _

_“Why shouldn’t I? He abandoned us, he abandoned **me**. He stuck me with the hardest job in the universe and you expect me to sing his praises like he made some sort of noble sacrifice? He **bailed** , guys. And I hate to admit it, but I almost don’t blame him. Not like there’s much worth sticking around for anymore anyways.”_

_The door was jerked open, and Leonardo stepped out, as though he were making off to find Don so they could just get this whole thing over with already. But he didn’t have to look very far. His eyes widened in surprise and just as quickly narrowed in distress. The tension increased exponentially between them as Leo tried to close the distance, but each step made him feel as though he were being compressed that much more, and in desperate alarm he backpedaled to regain the space. But Leo wasn’t letting up, so Donatello turned on his heel and ran the other way, blueprints and brothers forgotten behind him in the blur of his desolation. For once he had no idea what to do, so he panicked, removed himself quickly from the situation until he could come back to it with a clear head, tried not to think of the shame he felt at doing so because, even if only for a moment, he had just proven Michelangelo’s point. He tried to swallow the guilt but it kept spilling out of him in short wheezes, hatred pouring from his eyes, blinding him as he tried to focus. He winced as the chorus at his back grew, and wondered if they thought he was abandoning them too._

_They called his name, louder, louder? How was that possible if he was getting further away…? “Don! Don! DON?”_

“DON!” He jerked up instantly to find his brothers-his _real_ brothers around him, looking on with concern and confusion. Mikey was knelt in front of him, and he vaguely realized that he was now on the floor, though it was the least of his concerns. He saw no trace of that lingering resentment in him, both arms outstretched, yet slightly withered, as though he had intended to catch him but failed. Mikey was worried, that he could clearly see, but he also noticed a muted sheepishness where his frustration had been, and in another time, perhaps he would have dismissed it as another instance of Mikey being Mikey, his fleeting emotions gone with the wind sooner than his ever-shifting focus. But from his vantage point on the floor, he realized he had never quite seen his brother from this angle, where the light did not reflect off of his face so easily, where the thoughts he left behind sat and solidified, with a weight that pulled his shoulders down so that they sagged slightly further than his expression. He caught his gaze and smiled softly, but it was thin, like he was preparing to once again pack away another part of himself to make room for Don on the floor. Mikey always made room.

And suddenly, Donatello couldn’t handle how small he felt. Sitting up rapidly, he shooed away steadying hands and nearly fell over Michelangelo, wrapping him up the best that he could, pretending that for once he was bigger than himself if for no other reason than to make silent amends for anything and everything he could think of. “Donnie?” Leonardo questioned lightly, but Don ignored him as Mikey shifted, pulling away like he didn’t quite belong. Eying him quizzically, then Leo, Mikey tried his luck. “Are you okay?” Donatello let out a garbled mixture of a cough and strained laughter.

“Am I okay? Are _you_ okay?”

“Dude, we’re on the floor. It’s not a stupid question,” he responded breezily, and Don winced. Michelangelo blinked and shrank a bit further into himself. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“What are _you_ sorry for? Just stop, Mikey-”

“I didn’t mean to make you so upset, Don…I-I mean I was mad, yeah, but…I didn’t think you’d react like…like _that_. I just wanted you guys to know how frustrated I was about this but…I mean it was stupid, right? I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you guys because I didn’t get to play hero-”

Don placed a hand on Mikey’s cheek and the rambling ceased. Michelangelo looked up in surprise and Don returned to him a thin smile of his own. “But it meant much more to you than that, though.” The unasked question went unanswered, but he felt Mikey’s face grow warm and he knew that he had probably run out of whatever polish he used to buff out the gouges left in his upbeat bravado, instead sinking a little further into Donatello like he hadn’t rested in years. Don obliged, pulling him back against his chest in a wordless understanding. Interrupting Leo and Raph’s own nonverbal exchange, he gestured to them both and they didn’t hesitate, though they still looked over their younger brothers with concern. It was undoubtedly one of their more awkward interactions, but Don allowed himself to meld with it anyways, and he couldn’t recall how long they all sat there together mumbling interchangeable apologies and affirmations amongst themselves until their words all bled together into a cacophony of emotions he also couldn’t quite place his finger on. Much as he loathed to be trapped in time, he quite liked this particular loop, until it broke suddenly upon Mikey’s attempt to rationalize it all.

“The whole thing was pretty messed up,” he stated simply and sighed. Everyone nodded more out of support than anything else. April took it upon herself to apologize, and even tentatively offered him the chance to put away the last of her stock, but by the way everyone collectively held their breath in anticipation, Michelangelo had to know she was asking more than that. Positive or negative, his response would set the world in motion again, and though Don would sorely miss the peace the pause brought him, he ultimately gave up trying to delay the inevitable.

“Nah, make Donnie do it. He’s been sitting on his ass this whole time. Don't think I didn't notice that...” He grinned, and though there was a flavor of residual sorrow to it, he wiped at his eyes and smiled as he always did, like the sun after a storm. Leo said nothing, glancing at Don expectantly but without his familiar sharpness. Raph snickered and bumped his arm with an elbow.

“You heard him, Don. Get moving.”

Donatello grimaced, but there was no malice behind it. “Fine,” was his short reply before gracelessly dumping Mikey on the ground as he stood up to take on the task he had been saddled with. He whined in annoyance, but a smirk crawled across his face as Don turned to assess the damage, despite himself. Snickering, he winked and patted Leonardo, who was nearest to him as though it were a joke they all understood.

“And here I thought Raph liked me the best. I _knew_ you had a soft spot for me, Don…” And just as quickly as the claim was made, it was drowned out in a variety of responses ranging from amusement to teasing to protest, and Donatello smiled before removing himself to finish what they came there to do. April thanked him quietly, as she and Casey simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief that normalcy had returned, and both moved to join the group to either break up the calamity or foster it. Don watched them go, who was he to stop them? Handling everything with absolute care, perhaps more delicacy than was necessary, no one paid him any mind as he observed from afar.

Contrition plagued his thoughts as he examined his patch job like any good mechanic would, wondering with each sigh, each pause, each hesitation how long his negligence had allowed for such a state of disrepair. The way Michelangelo’s face contorted, as though he were having to muster up the strength to laugh where it once came as a second nature to him, the same way a battery gets depleted entirely before it dies…the thought chilled him. Mikey had almost broken down, and Don had done his best to fix him up, but there was only so much he could do. Maybe he was overthinking things, it wouldn’t be the first time…but he had paid the price of failure once, he was too paranoid to underthink things. He couldn’t…he _wouldn’t_ take any chances, _he wouldn’t let it come true, no matter what._

And yet, as he stood apart from his brothers, he could better see how the pieces rattled, their jagged edges just fit into place and bonded by a promise of unity he had yet to break, only a matter of time before the abrasion at the cracks dissolved his poor excuse of a solution…he was a shitty mechanic. And if he were doomed to fail along with it, he supposed it was just as well of him to be a shitty brother too. He placed the last of the inventory on the shelves, and though he did not fumble once, he felt guiltier than Mikey, because he knew in his heart that Mikey would have never let it shatter, no matter how high he threw it, that was just how he was. But here he stood, no one breathing down his neck, because they all _trusted_ him. And he hadn’t been able to catch them.

“Yo Donatello, you almost done? I wanna get home before the movie starts, and you’re moving slower than a turtle over there.”

Don whipped around and stuck his tongue out, which Mikey reciprocated. Raphael and Leonardo watched the exchange with amusement, and Don then understood the meaning behind Mikey’s good-natured pestering as a small contented smile flitted across his face when he looked upon them. As soon as he caught Don’s eye though, his own gleamed with a familiar roguery, as if to acknowledge the mutual unspoken understanding between them when it came to their older brothers. _They worry too much, you know how it is._ Like the both of them hadn’t just almost crumbled to nothing on the floor of April’s shop. Donatello couldn’t help his uneasiness; it was impossible to ever know whether Mikey knew more or less than he let on. He seemed to faintly sense it though, he always did, and he never really required a reason anyway. The two stuck together the entire trip home, Mikey throwing jokes left and right, refusing to let up until he managed to pull a weary smile out of him, only acquiescing to his wishes because he had been through enough tonight, and figured it would satisfy him. But he persisted until Don found himself wrapped up in a hug he didn’t deserve. Michelangelo’s work was never finished, it seemed.

He tried not to dwell on it.

Tried not to dwell on the fact that perhaps they weren’t as infallible as he had once foolishly believed, that if the most flexible of them all could break then he was surely next, it was all only a matter of time. A matter of time, like a capsule that he hoped he could bury in the back of his mind and be able to dig up of his own volition once he was entirely certain what he had seen was as fake as those stupid horror flicks Mikey was so fond of.

Honestly, he had never understood the appeal, why his brother absolutely insisted that they all join him at least once a week for these makeshift marathons if for no other reason than to sit around and watch someone else be in mortal peril for a change. Sometimes Casey would come, sporting some obscure movie from the 80s of questionable-at-best quality, or sometimes Sensei would step out of his room and slip in between them on the couch and try his best to be invested in whatever it was they were watching, with varied success. But that night, it was just the four of them, gathered together in front of the TV with blankets, snacks, and a semi-cold pizza April had rewarded them with for their trouble, all equally ready to flush the misadventures of the week out of their systems the best way they knew how.

The movie was awful, predictably. They _had_ given Mikey honorary remote privileges in an earnest attempt to make things up to him, but it was a price Donatello would have willingly paid, had it not been so gory. He was shocked and a bit disgusted, _who would air this on television?_ He recoiled and looked away, he didn’t need to be reminded again of the graphic scene he left behind, but he couldn’t stop the images that flooded his brain before he subconsciously squeezed his eyes closed, as though that would somehow protect him from what had been burned into him. _His family battered and lifeless, limp and bleeding and mangled, and it was all his fault-He could barely stand to live with himself. They trusted him, and his STUPID plan had gotten them killed but he couldn’t even bring himself to be with them in their last moments, to pay his respects, to apologize and pray they would forgive if not him, then their own Donatello because at least he didn’t leave them to die-_

A chuckle broke his concentration, plucking him out of a burning building before it could collapse on him. It was soft and cool, like a breeze, and he clung onto it before he even knew who it belonged to. He opened his eyes slowly, and as the spots faded away, Leonardo’s scrupulous eyes met his, as though he were looking for something. Before he could react, Leo eased off, settling in front of him, in the right place, at the right time like he was always meant to be. Fist deep in a bowl of popcorn, he shoved at least a quarter of its contents into his mouth before he continued. “Come on Donnie, we’ve seen scarier stuff than that in real life!”

“Am I supposed to be proud of that? It doesn’t make it any easier to sit through, especially when it all feels so… _needless._ ”

Leo shot him a sympathetic look, patted his shoulder, and offered him some popcorn, which he accepted reluctantly. “Don’t feel bad, bro. It’s just a movie, and a _cheap_ one at that,” he raised his voice to attract Mikey’s attention, but he and Raph were too busy brawling over the last slice of pizza to notice. _That_ got Don to smile, and Leo, satisfied, moved in closer to him from his place on the opposite side of the couch, and he felt inexplicably safe again. As he looked around, he realized that in all actuality, he was the only one paying attention to the film anyways, too focused on the violence of demise to realize that he had been wholly ignoring the animated mayhem of life going on right in front of him. Drops of blood like popcorn kernels spilt everywhere, a mess of dissonant voices as the killer caught his victims comparable only to the choir of shrieking that came when Leo was caught absently reaching for another slice of pizza. 

He supposed he understood now why nights like those were necessary. That he may still be processing things as he was prone to, but he could learn to let his memories and experiences from that day wash away into the static as though it were just another terrible movie. A movie that would perhaps always exist as a blot in the back of his mind, but a movie during which he could hold up his arms and cover his eyes and only allow what he wanted to see peek through the cracks, like the defeated forms of Raphael and Michelangelo, slumped against one another eying their respective pizza halves with spite, childish disappointment and tomato sauce painted across their faces, or like the easy grin Leonardo wore as he gleefully pointed out every laughable special effect for the rest of the movie, as well as the one after that, in an attempt to put him at ease.

He was _getting_ better, he would forget all about it or learn to laugh at it one day. He would learn to appreciate the time he had, maybe everything he had learned was for a reason, maybe it was a wake-up call or something similar, maybe it was a push to get him to improve himself, and _damn he was going to do everything in his power to spin this into a positive-_

So what did he learn?

He asked himself as he was once again thrust back into the present, failing to notice as his brothers began to quell their rioting once they noticed that Donatello hadn’t opted to take part. He had felt fine tonight, _free_ even, patrol went smoothly, everything was finally shifting back to normal-so why did he feel like he was being left behind? What did he learn?

He learned he was scared, and selfish. He missed his brothers dearly and now that he had them back he was afraid of what he now had to lose. How he never wanted them to be apart from each other again, but would sequester himself away to remedy the problem or isolate himself away from their playful banter so that they didn’t worry about him. So they didn’t have to worry themselves about something he was just likely overthinking, or heaven-forbid _underthinking…but he was just so tired of the same endless, repetitive cycle of confusion and pain and he just didn’t know what to do anymore-_

“Leo, he’s spacing out again.”

He still had work to do.

“Don? You’re kinda freaking us out, bro.”

Maybe he would feel better once he completed the security upgrades.

“Are you okay?”

Maybe if he succeeded at something it would all go away.

“Fine. I’m just-”

“Tired?” Came the simultaneous, ever skeptical collective response. He had to get out of here, he couldn’t take the way they looked at him, like they were going to pry him open the next time he spoke. He just needed some time alone to sort through his thoughts. Turning away, he feigned a scoff and shuffled quickly in the direction of his lab, leaving them behind while attempting to stave off the lingering guilt of hypocrisy. It was a pattern that frightened him more than anything, and ultimately steeled his determination to complete what he had set out to, despite the hushed argument he tried to ignore upon his departure.

No one followed. Leo must have somehow convinced Raph to give him some space, but he had no time to be thankful. Several things needed his attention. He would finish the upgrades tonight, he couldn’t wait on that any longer, it was only a matter of time before someone would come to drag him away. He just needed to find-where did he put them? His notes? He vaguely recalled Leo rudely ripping them from his hands a few nights back, he must have just _shoved_ them somewhere…He searched his desk and finding nothing, he turned to the counters behind him, where the projects he had neglected in order to make room for this one cluttered the space. He would have to organize that at some- _no, focus_. He couldn’t afford to lose his focus again, the extraneous would have to wait.

Pushing loose papers and unfinished works aside, his desperation increased as he came up with nothing. He started roughly tossing things aside, his frenzy likened only by his growing resentment. _How could he let this happen? Couldn’t he do anything right? Was he just doomed to fail? What was the point?_ The visions that followed provided a haunting reminder.

_You are the last of your kind, Donatello._

But he wasn’t. In the back of his mind he knew that his own brothers were out there somewhere, away from this nightmare. But the way they all slowly attached themselves to him, did their best to shield him from the worst of everything like they were young again, picking him up and encouraging him every time he fell down or fell behind…it wasn’t perfect, not by any means, but they had found at least some closure to the less than ideal situation that they were forced into by someone who was supposed to be him.

And he had gone and ripped them open again. They laid there on the unforgiving ground, calling for him, for one another, whether to curse them or to alleviate the fear before it drained out of them like everything else-he didn’t know, but either way likely wondering why the hell in a million years or thirty they allowed this to happen. How did they allow him to lead them into such a terrible mess? Did he not realize what was at stake? Or did he regard them with indifference, as unreachable and cold as their own Donatello? But while their Donatello was likely unaware or dead, he was right there, unable to look at them when they finally turned their eyes upward in jaded acceptance.

It didn’t have to end that way. Had he been better, had he been smarter, had he just been anything but a miserable excuse for a brother, maybe they would have lived, maybe they would have never fought at all, content to finally just be in each other’s presences again before acting so rashly. But he made the call, and they listened-of course they did, whether they wanted to admit it or not, they had probably forgotten what it felt like to have that intrusive empty void where he should have been filled even for just a small while…they would have done anything he asked. And they had. _He had no one to blame but himself. But feeling terribly about it wasn’t going to bring them back. They weren’t his brothers but he still cared about them, but the more he told himself he wouldn’t be like their Donatello the closer the two became, just two cowards who made a mess and ran, leaving someone else to clean up the mess he left behind-_

_Were all the universe’s versions of him destined to be so horrible? So…so USELESS!_

He couldn’t stop himself. He swept everything in front of him off of the counter with a ferocity that would have made Raphael proud. Shouting followed, though he couldn’t make out any of the words, and stopped briefly to assess the destruction through rage-induced tunnel-vision. Shards of glass littered everywhere, vials skittered across the floor, papers flew in all directions, crumpled, torn, splashed by various chemicals that had also been spilt, thankfully he had remembered to put the more hazardous experiments away but it didn’t change the fact that he had likely just ruined months of work…

More yelling. His brothers shook him, but he ignored them, eying a particular set of papers on the ground, absolutely soaking wet, virtually unreadable save for a few words near the top of the first page.

“ _No.”_ The noise silenced. He pushed past the group in front of him, stumbling over them and onto his knees, delicately handling the ruined bundle. _No no no no NO! NO!_ He felt like he was being held underwater, his vision clouded and the voices around him muddled and mixed in the murkiness of his perception.

“Something you were working on?” Gentle, cautious.

_“…it’s…ruined.”_

“It’s okay Don, it was an accident. You can just…start over? Right? No big deal, I can help if you-” Uneasy, almost artificial.

_“…no time…”_

“Enough of this! What’s _wrong_ with you? Look at this place, have you gone nuts or what? This isn’t like you at all!”

Pained, angry, confused. More arguing followed.

“Raph, _not helping._ ”

“Yeah, no kidding! You know what would’ve helped? If you didn’t keep insisting that we give him his space every time he gets like this! We could’ve solved this problem so much sooner if you had just _listened_ to me for once!”

“What do you want me to do, Raph? He gets just like you, so why not grant him the same clemency? Don’t you hate it when I bother you?”

“Me n’ Donnie aren’t the same _person_ , idiot!”

“You guys are both idiots! Seriously, could your timing be any worse? This isn’t about you!”

The argument was all too familiar, the storm raged inside his mind, this was exactly what he was afraid of, Leonardo and Raphael in each other’s faces, Michelangelo hopelessly compressed in the middle…if they were falling to pieces now…then there was no hope after all. Sheer panic overtook him. _There was no time left, no time-_

“STOP!” Short but effective, and the silence prevailed. He felt so guilty raising his voice like that, but…he couldn’t take it. _“…please…stop…”_ he begged, more quietly now that he was sure someone would hear him, though he couldn’t say whether he was talking to his brothers or at them anymore.

“Don, please tell us what’s wrong.”

“We’re worried, dude.”

But he couldn’t string a coherent thought together anymore. He gripped his soggy notes bitterly and silently wept even more so, repeating what could not escape as he curled into himself on the floor amongst the shattered glass.

 _“I ruined it…I destroyed everything…It’s my fault…This is all my fault!”_ Like a part of the movie he couldn’t skip, forced to witness forever until the two realities merged into one, and he couldn’t decipher whether he was watching or being watched. Either terrified him.

 _“It’s all my FAULT!”_ He tried to forcefully tear up what remained of his notes, but a series of arms stopped him, held him back, held him up. It was nice. He hated it. He hated himself for sinking into the embrace, like he wasn’t responsible for the horrors that kept him awake at night. He hated himself because he knew he should say _something_ to let them know how truly unworthy he was, why he couldn’t just _redo_ his notes like he always did when things inevitably blew up his face, just… _something_ other than the same pathetic rhetoric he couldn’t hold inside any longer…but he couldn’t. He was weak, and he was selfish, and he supposed that it was wasn't too far a stretch to conclude that this version of him was just as horrible as the other.

He buried his face into someone’s shoulder in shame, finally sobbing, he was just so _disgusted_ …

“ _…it’s…all my fault…”_

His brothers gave up trying to make any sense of him, instead opting to hold him steady. There was an affection there, but he recognized the hesitant yet present firmness, preventing him from causing more damage. It ached, but it was a small price to pay, and frankly, insulting to the dead that he was even extended such a courtesy. But regardless, he was stuck now, with nowhere to fall but straight back into the numbing static.

Time became meaningless after that.

**Author's Note:**

> rip mobile users


End file.
